


From the Start

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual John, Childhood Friends, Experienced John, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, I promise they're going to talk at some point, Light Angst, Love Confession, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Virgin Sherlock, in the sense that it takes them forever to talk about their feelings, realistic sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: Sherlock and John are seven when they meet, quickly becoming best friends but also developing feelings for each other over the years. When some miscommunications change their relationship entirely, they settle into a situation which could ruin everything or force them to confess what they’ve been hiding for too long.OR best childhood friends who take for-fucking-ever to figure it out





	1. From 7 to 18

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotsmugstache (MadeInBerlin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadeInBerlin/gifts).



> I'm back with a new fic! This one was won by hotsmugstache on tumblr, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing this story!
> 
> I don't know for sure how many chapter there will be because I keep writing and writing, so it's probably going to be a long one.
> 
> Thank you to xtina for reading over this, you truly are the best!
> 
> I’ll be updating every week if everything goes well. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy,  
> Pauline.

 

 

 

> _“I’d be lying if I said_  
>  _you make me speechless_  
>  _the truth is you make my_  
>  _tongue so weak it forgets_  
>  _what language to speak in.”_
> 
>   
>           ― [Rupi Kaur](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8075577.Rupi_Kaur), [Milk and Honey](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/43116473)

 

**One**

FALLING IN LOVE

 

*    *    *

S E V E N

*    *    *

 

“See you tomorrow, John!”

John waves at his friends with a bright smile.

He holds on to his school bag tightly, turning down the corner quickly. He knows the way by heart now, as he explained to Harry everytime she asked if she should come and fetch him after school. John knows she would if he asked, even if she’s much, much older and always has a thousand things to do. She’s still his big sister and she always reads to him whenever he can’t sleep. His favorite story is the one with the lonely pirate going on mysterious adventures. Harry always changes her voice when she reads that one, and John has to stop himself from laughing too loudly every time. But it’s alright because sometimes Harry laughs, too.

She used to come and fetch him the first month, waiting at the school doors and heading back home with him, but now John isn’t a kid anymore. He can walk home alone and not feel scared by every stranger and the too many cars on the road. His friend Henry told him he’s been going home alone since he was five, and even if Henry tends to tell a lot of made up stories, this one is probably true. Henry is very tall, the tallest of the class, and John knows for a fact that tall people aren’t afraid of anything. Just like Harry. He’s getting tall too, his mum told him the other day. She called him “my big boy”, and surely a big boy can walk home alone.

And really, even though he got a bit lost that first time, the way he ended up taking that day is now his favorite. By turning down the corner at the library, he gets to see the big red house at the end of the street. He has never seen a house like this, and he’s certain there must be a dozen bedrooms in it, even maybe playrooms. Agatha has a playroom in her house, and last year on her birthday, John and his friends had played inside all day. He had asked mom if he could get one too but she said their house was a little too small. But for his own birthday, she had got him a mezzanine bed, and he has now brand new toys he can store under it. Even Agatha said it was an amazing bed.

With the library now in sight, John walks faster, already heading for the enormous gate in front the red house. He stops where he usually does, between the stone wall and the gate, moving closer to get a look inside the garden. The boy is there, as always, and his dog too. They’re lying on the ground, the boy looking closely at the grass and talking too quietly for John to hear. He has to be talking to the dog, and the first few times John noticed them, he had even wondered if this boy with such a house also had a magic dog that could talk. But obviously not (the dog never answered). John tries to step ever closer, his school bag abandoned on the pavement now, and tries to discern what the boy’s books next to him are about.

He stands on his tiptoe, holding his breath and trying his best to get just a little closer and-

“You! What are you doing?”

John, startled, takes a step back and falls over his bag, landing on the pavement. He barely has the time to stand up before the gate is opening and the boy stepping outside. “Are you spying on me?”

“No, No,” John says, “I was just-”

“You’re a bad liar, has anyone ever told you that?” The boy interrupts, folding his arms against his chest.

John feels his cheeks heating up and he jumps to his feet quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you spying on me?”

“I was just looking,” John replies. “That’s all.”

The boys looks at him for a long moment, not speaking. Up close, John realises he’s a bit taller than him, and his eyes are the same color as Harry’s. His dog is there too, waiting next to him, and John tries a nice: “Your dog seems nice.”

“His name is Redbeard,” the boys replies, “and he’s not nice. He’s a pirate.”

“A pirate?” John asks, eyes wide.

“Yes. On my ship,” the boy says proudly, unfolding his arms to pet the dog’s ears. “I’m the captain.”

“And what is your name?”

“I’m Sherlock.”

John almost tells him his own in return, but Sherlock is an awesome captain name, and John is not. He looks down again, to his school bag this time, and wonders if he should just go home right now.

“This is not the way to your house,” Sherlock says suddenly, forcing John to look back at him.

“How do you know?”

“I know everyone who lives in this street and you do not. Beside, there are traces of mud on your shoes, which means you have to cross the park every day, so you obviously live on the other side of town.”

John’s eyes widen even more, “Is that why you are the captain? Because you know everything?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replies. “And also because Redbeard is very bad at it, and since there’s only the two of us, I had to be the captain!”

“I could be on your ship too,” John says before flushing again, ready to apologize, but Sherlock grabs him by the arm, dragging him inside.

“Brilliant,” he exclaims. “Besides, Redbeard always ruins my experiments, and I’m sure you won’t!”

“I’ll try,” John says, not exactly sure what they are talking about.

Sherlock stops abruptly, “Oh, what’s your name?”

John looks down, certain Sherlock is going to change his mind and send him back out as he says, “John.”

But Sherlock only smiles, tugging on his arm again and saying, “Come on, John, you have a lot to learn!”

John follows quickly, too afraid to somehow offend Sherlock. The garden is even more impressive than he has imagined, and John barely has the time to take in the treehouse and the swing before Sherlock is stopping in front of a huge cover spread on the floor. “This is our ship, John!” He declares, “and this is Mycroft, our prisoner.”

“Am not,” a tall boy replies, reading a book under a tree nearby.

“He is,” Sherlock says, looking directly into John’s eyes. “He betrayed me during battle, abandoning the ship. Can you imagine such treason?”

“I will never betray you, captain!” John replies, trying to sound as serious as he can.

“Promise?” Sherlock asks, leaning in closer.

“I promise!”

Sherlock smiles at him, “On board, pirate!”

 

 

*    *    *

E L E V E N

*    *    *

 

 

Sherlock’s plan had worked perfectly, until suddenly, it didn’t.

Getting into the same school as John had been fairly easy. Mummy had been surprised when he had first asked to go to a real school, but she hadn’t asked too many questions about it. After all, John had been coming to stay at their house almost every week for the past four years. She had seemed happy, and even Mycroft hadn’t commented on his decision. The truth is that Sherlock had been wanting to spend every day with John for a very long time, but he hadn’t been sure that’s what John wanted too. At least until this summer when John had said that school would be “much more fun with you there!”

That’s all it took for Sherlock to start making it happen, and so here he is, listening to a teacher that clearly is trying her best to deal with the stupidity of his classmates. Not getting into the same class as John hadn’t been planned, but Sherlock had figured he could make it work. They still had recess and the walk back home which they always spent together.

Or at least, Sherlock had thought they would.

But John had _friends_. A lot of them. Sherlock had expected this, of course he had, but not that many. It seems that every single kid at this school is friends with John, one way or another. Every time Sherlock manages to have a moment to tell John about his latest experiment, someone comes and interrupts them. Most of the time that idiot Henry has some really urgent thing to tell John, really really urgent he says every single time, and John, obviously, listens. Morgane and Timothy also tend to just sit with them and try to engage in the conversation, not understanding any of it and yet never running away at Sherlock’s sighs and half hidden mockery. But the worst of all is that John seems to enjoy _this_. The only time they manage to truly be just the two of them is when they stop at Sherlock’s house after school, which really is just like _before_.

Sherlock is seriously starting to think getting into John’s school had all been for nothing after all.

“Sherlock,” Mrs Nancy calls just as the class _finally_ ends. “Can I talk to you?”

Sherlock goes to wait by her desk, not actually minding having to do so. Mrs Nancy isn’t bad - the students are - and she seems to understand him in her own way.

“So,” she smiles as soon as the classroom is empty. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock frowns.

“You’ve been less and less active in class. In fact, I can’t remember the last time you corrected me,” she laughs softly, winking at him. “Hence my question: what’s going on?”

Sherlock sighs, considering four different lies that could get him out of here quickly, but finds that he actually does want to talk about it. “I don’t like school.”

“It’s only been two months, don’t you want to give it more time?”

“Why?” Sherlock asks, sighing. “Everything I learn here I already know, or can learn by myself.”

“Why did you come at all then?”

Sherlock falls silent, knowing perfectly well that his reason is a childish one. He looks away, staring at the window to the playground and immediately finds John there. As usual, he’s surrounded by too many idiotic kids to even notice Sherlock isn’t there with them yet.

“Oh, I see,” comes Mrs Nancy’s voice, startling him and Sherlock feels himself blush. “John Watson. He’s a sweet kid, I give you that. And looks like he’s a good friend too.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sherlock mutters.

“Did you two have a fight?”

Sherlock shakes his head.

“Did he say something that upset you?”

Another shake.

“Do something?”

Sherlock shrugs before sighing loudly. “I just don’t understand, why does he find them all so interesting? They’re so ordinary!”

“They?” She looks at the window too. “His friends?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, unable to keep the harsh tone from his voice. “His friends.”

Mrs Nancy stands up from her chair, going around the desk and sitting next to him. “Sherlock, I understand that this is the first time you’re around this many kids, but that’s just how it works, especially at your age. You make friends with the people you see every day.”

“I don’t,” Sherlock replies.

“Yes, but I think we both agree that you see things in your own way,” Mrs Nancy smiles. “And that’s perfectly alright, but you can’t expect everyone else to react the same way.”

“I know that but John is-” he stops, blushing again.

“Alright, I’m going to give you a piece of advice that you can choose to ignore; I don’t mind. John is a friendly kid, he attracts other people without realising he does and it’s probably going to be this way all his life. And if I understand all this correctly, you are his friend, too.”

“His best friend,” Sherlock corrects her.

“Then that means you are very important to each other,” Mrs Nancy smiles, “but also that you have to be careful and accept each other as you are, and everything that comes with it.”

Sherlock falls silent again, looking back through the window to find John. John, who always calls his deductions brilliant, who never complains when they spend hours looking at grass in search of bugs, who always comes up with the best arguments to convince mummy they need another sleepover. He couldn’t be the one to ruin it all, not when John just-

“- accepted me.”

“What?” Mrs Nancy frowns.

“Nothing,” Sherlock says, standing up and going for the door. “Thank you for the… talk.”

Mrs Nancy’s answer gets lost as he rushes for the playground. It only takes a second to find John, and he takes some time to regain his composure before going to join him. John looks up just as he sits down next to the new blonde girl and smiles broadly at him, nodding towards Henry who seemed to be in the middle of a very important story. Sherlock nods back, forcing himself to focus on what’s happening around them. He can do this, can share John during the day and have him all to himself afterward. He can make it happen, can make sure John isn’t going to one day need space from him.

“Hey Sherlock.” John is smiling at him again, having moved closer. “Where were you?”

“Mrs Nancy wanted to talk to me,” Sherlock replies, already feeling better.

“Oh, are you in trouble?”

“No, no,” Sherlock smiles, shaking his head.

“Good, because I wanted to talk to you about a science project my teacher told us about. We can choose a partner in another class if we want to and I was thinking we could work on it together!”

“That would be brilliant,” Sherlock replies, knowing for a fact he’ll never stop trying his best to keep John Watson in his life.  

 

 

*    *    *

F O U R T E E N

*    *    *

 

 

John has to say, for a first party, this was pretty amazing. Agatha had invited most of the students of their school year and even though her house is one if the biggest John ever visited (after Sherlock’s obviously), it feels a lot smaller tonight. John had caught a glimpse of Henry already dancing with his latest girlfriend, and even Mehdi winning at some kind of board game and apparently being quite loud about it.

“Melissa, have you seen Sherlock?”

“No sorry!”

John sighs, starting to get worried a bit. He hadn’t thought Sherlock would come in the first place, but he had said yes right away. They had come here together, his mum driving them, but when John had offered to go and fetch them something to drink, Sherlock had disappeared entirely. This year was the first one where they had ended up in the same class, and although it had brought them closer (if possible), it had also made John realise a lot more about himself than he was ready for. And so he had decided that tonight would be the night to find out, the night to know for sure what was happening inside his head and body, and really, it would be a lot easier if Sherlock had said no.

Now he had to be certain Sherlock wouldn’t be around when he… well, when he found the courage to do something about it.

“Henry, Henry! Have you seen Sherlock?”

Henry looks around quickly, “I think I just saw him over there with that Marcus boy, but he’s gone now.”

“Thanks,” John smiles, now looking both for Sherlock and Marcus apparently.

He heads for kitchen, again, the garden, again, and just to be sure, the living room again. _Ok John, think like him. Where would I go if I was Sherlock?_ The solution presents itself immediately, and John can’t help but laugh as he heads up the stairs to Agatha’s bedroom. As expected, Sherlock is right there, looking at the pictures on the mirror facing the purple bed.

“Sherlock, you can’t be in here,” he says, closing the door behind him.

“I thought we agreed I don’t know such things,” Sherlock replies, casting him a quick smile. “Beside, this is important data for my experiment.”

“Studying teenage behavior isn’t an experiment,” John points out, sitting on the bed while being careful not to touch anything.

“My research?” Sherlock offers.

“More like it,” John smiles. He can already feel his heartbeat quickening, palms sweaty and breath short. He really, really needs to do something about this. “I looked for you everywhere.”

“Figured you would.”

John licks his lips, breathing in deeply before asking, “Are you gonna be long?”

“Might be,” Sherlock replies, “I’ve only begun here.”

“Well, be careful ok? And think of something to say in case Agatha decides she needs something from her room!” John gets to his feet, hands clasped behind his back. “I’ll go back downstairs and play for a bit.”

Sherlock hums his answer, already focused on whatever he’s learning from the pictures.

“Don’t disappear again, ok?”

“No promises,” Sherlock replies.

John makes sure to close the door, checking the hallway twice before heading back downstairs. Arthur has been playing the same game ever since he got there, and without allowing himself to talk himself out of this, John goes right where he’s sure to find him. He sits for a long moment, listening absently to the conversation while trying to gather the nerve to say something. Arthur is nice, very nice, and John’s certain he’ll be on board for this. But the thing is, he’s not sure if this is the right thing to do. He should be talking about this to Sherlock, should be trying to figure this out with Sherlock.

Except, well, it’s Sherlock.

“Anyone want something to drink?”

John focuses back to reality just in time to watch Arthur walk away to the kitchen. Refusing to overthink any of it, he gets to his feet and follows him, saying before Arthur can reach for a glass, “Arthur, could I talk to you?”

“Yes, sure,” Arthur smiles, “What’s up?”

“Maybe not here,” John says, looking around, and Arthur’s entire body language changes, suddenly understanding.

“Of course.”

John inhales deeply before nodding toward the garden. They walk there in silence, and John realises Arthur has probably done this before, walked to a hidden corner with a very nervous boy.

“So how long?” Arthur asks when they’re outside.

“What?”

“How long have you been wondering?”

“Oh,” John breathes. “A while now.”

“I guess that’s because of Holmes, then?”

John tries to hide his blush, not answering.

“I get it, he’s attractive,” Arthur smiles.

“He’s not interested,” John replies, regretting how harsh he sounds immediately.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur laughs, “I’m not interested either.”

John stops by a tree, changing the subject entirely, “Are you sure this is alright with you?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Arthur replies, stepping closer. “You’re the not first one to ask. And besides, I get to kiss cute guys, so I’m not complaining. One of the perks of being publicly out!”

John exhales loudly, “I just…”

“Need to know, trust me, I understand.” Another step closer. “I’m just gonna kiss you, but then you’re in charge. If it’s not your thing, just tell me. I won’t get offended.”

John closes his eyes and waits. He has to know, has to be certain that the feelings he’s been experiencing for months now are what he thinks they are. He can’t be certain he’s slowly but surely falling in love with his best friend if he doesn’t know whether or not he enjoys being with boys in the first place. He just needs to kno-

The first touch of Arthur’s lips against his own takes him completely by surprise. He can’t help the quiet gasp escaping him and he feels Arthur smile against his mouth. As per his promise, he doesn’t do any more than that, so John gathers all the courage in him and places a careful hand around his neck, adding more pressure to the kiss. The first thought that strikes him is that Arthur is a good kisser with soft lips, much softer than he had imagined. The second one is that he’s liking this, a lot.

The first touch of tongue surprises him, and even more when he realises he’s the one deepening the kiss. Arthur follows along, having pushed him back against the tree and still letting him take control of where this kiss is going. He’s kissed girls before, quite a lot actually, and enjoyed it very much. But this is different, this feels different. And for the first time, John allows himself to imagine how it could feel if he were kissing Sherlock instead.

Arthur is the one to pull away, taking a few steps back, “You have your answer then.”

“Yeah,” John whispers. “I think I have.”

“If you want to talk about any of it, you can always find me.”

“Thank you,” John smiles. “I still have a lot to think about, but this really helped.”

“If I can give you some advice, don’t rush into this,” Arthur says, looking directly into his eyes. “Take some time to be certain about it, it’ll be sad to damage your friendship over something you’re not sure about.”

“You’re right. I will.”

“Well, good luck John,” Arthur smiles, “I hope it’ll work out for you.”

“Thanks,” John smiles back. “Thank you, really.”

Arthur nods before walking away, leaving John time to gather himself and try to erase all traces of what just happened. The last thing he needs is for Sherlock to deduce he just kissed a boy for the first time - and liked it. He rushes back to Agatha’s room after stopping for something to drink and takes a deep breath as he opens the door. Sherlock is still there, going through the books on Agatha’s desk now, and he doesn’t even look up when John comes in.

“Found anything interesting?” John asks, going back to sit on the bed.

“Plenty,” Sherlock replies without going into further details.

John doesn’t ask, knowing perfectly well he’ll have a full report soon enough. Instead he watches him and lets himself accept that he has feelings for his extraordinary best friend of his. Now, he just needs to find a way to tell him.

 

 

*    *    *

S I X T E E N

*    *    *

 

 

Family Sunday Lunch has always been boring and way too long. Sherlock will never understand why his parents insist they need to be together every Sunday just to eat, but somehow it had become a habit Sherlock is too afraid to contest now. Besides, most Sunday Lunches involve John so maybe it isn’t _that_ bad. Even if he has to endure mummy’s overly personal questions, at least John is here to answer for him or simply support him through it. But then, there were lunches involving Mycroft. Like today’s.

“Mother, my apartment is perfectly fine, just like I explained twice already.”

“I would know for sure if you invited us, Myc,” mummy complains, again. “We still haven’t met Angelica.”

“And you won’t be meeting her,” Mycroft replies. “We are no longer together.”

Sherlock, who has been locked in his own head until now, looks up at that, “How surprising.”

“Sherlock, don’t start,” his father warns him.

“I’m only saying that-”

“Stop,” Mummy adds with a pointed look.

Sherlock is about to protest when he feels John poking him under the table. Sherlock meets his eyes, reading the amusement but also a silent warning not too push it further, so he falls silent again. That’s another thing that always surprises him about John, this ability of making him shut up. Even his own parents never managed to do so. But then, it’s always been different when it comes to John Watson.

“Why didn’t it work, Myc?”

“It simply didn’t,” Mycroft replies, his tone making it clear enough what he thinks of the conversation.

“It’s the second time you’ve dated someone and we don’t get to meet her,” Mummy continues, having stopped eating entirely now. “Are we ever going to meet any of them?”

“Probably not considering Angelica was the last women I plan on dating.”

“Oh,” their father breathes, eyes wide. “Are we going to meet a boyfriend then?”

Mycroft rolls his eyes at this, and Sherlock can’t suddenly look up from his plate. “Not a boyfriend either, no. I am just no interested in dating anymore.”

“Now you sound like your brother,” Mummy sighs. “Why can’t the two of you be more like John here.”

“I’m not-” John begins just as Mycroft intervenes too.

“John is very different, Mummy.”

“Yes,” John adds, avoiding his eyes when Sherlock looks up at him. “It’s not the same at all.”

“See,” Mycroft says.

“I blame you, you know, for putting those ideas in your brother’s head,” Mummy continues, pointing a finger at Mycroft, and Sherlock can’t help but snort. “I have to listen to him telling us love is just a disadvantage, that it is not worth it and only causes problems.”

“That’s because it’s true,” Mycroft replies.

“Well, I’m sure John disagrees.”

Sherlock looks back at him again, finding John staring at his empty plate, only replying with a quiet, “Yes.”

And of course he thinks differently. Sherlock knows all too well just what John thinks about love. He’s been watching him date girls, and more recently boys too, for years. And even though John assured him he never actually dated any of them long enough to fall in love, Sherlock knew it would happen one day. And he’ll probably be there, watching.

“John, you should help Sherlock, take him out with you! I heard you’re no longer with your boyfriend, the two of you could meet new people together!”

“Mummy, I don’t need-”

“He’s just not interested, Mrs Holmes,” John cuts in.

Sherlock looks anywhere but at him, not bothering to listen to anything else his mother might have to say about the matter. His plan is working perfectly, so why does it feel so wrong hearing John say those words. That’s what he had made sure John would think every time he wondered why his best friend never dated anyone.

Better than the truth.

“Well,” Mummy sighs, “at least he has you, John. Mycroft doesn’t have any friends.”

“Who would want to be friends with him,” Sherlock snorts, earning a glare from both his parents, and another kick under the table.

“Maybe I should stop being your friend,” John says, “See how that feels.”

“I have other-” Sherlock stops, realising what he was about to say. “Please, don’t.”

“Fine,” John laughs, “But only because you’re that amazing of a friend.”

“Is that supposed to be ironic?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Well I am,” Sherlock says, daring him to say otherwise, “Amazing.”

John laughs again, head thrown back and his full body shaking, and just like that, Sherlock falls just a bit more in love.

“See Myc,” Mummy says, standing up to take back plates to the kitchen, “friends!”

Mycroft shakes his head, eyes meeting his for the briefest of second, just enough for Sherlock to understand that he _knows_. Although hiding it from his parents and John had been fairly easy, Sherlock had never expected to keep it from Mycroft.

“Sit down mom,” Mycroft says, taking the plates from her hands. “I’ll take care of this.”

“I’ll help,” John offers.

“No, you’re a guest.” Mycroft replies. “Sherlock will help.”

Sherlock gets up with a resigned sigh, taking John’s plate while ignoring his questioning eyes, and follows Mycroft to the kitchen. “That was subtle,” he says when they’re alone.

“I wasn’t aiming for subtle,” Mycroft replies. “After all, you’re not subtle yourself either. What was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Since when do you flirt with John in front of our parents?” Mycroft attacks, a smug smile on his lips.

“It wasn’t flirting,” Sherlock replies calmly.

“Tell yourself what you want little brother, but if I suspected something last time I was here, I now have a confirmation. Should I bring champagne next time to celebrate?”

“There will be nothing to celebrate, Mycroft. In fact, don’t come back at all.”

“I would have never thought feelings would make you so blind,” Mycroft sighs, moving to walk back to the garden.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sherlock asks, getting absolutely no answer.

He remains still, watching Mycroft sit down again and John getting up. And Sherlock hates that the weight in his chest is already fading just at the sight of John’s concerned smile.

“What was that about?” he asks when he’s close enough.

“Just Mycroft being his usual self,” Sherlock replies, rolling his eyes. “I wanted to go back to the school lab this afternoon. Care to join?”

“You mean break into the school lab?”

“You said it, not me.”

John looks back at the garden table, “Do you think we can just sneak out?”

Sherlock continues to fall in love.

 

 

*    *    *

E I G H T E E N

*    *    *

 

 

“You have a nickname, you know.”

John frowns, still panting and coming down from his orgasm, “What?”

“A nickname,” Nathan repeats, turning on his side to look at him.

“Really? What is it?”

Nathan shakes his head, “You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t?” John laughs. “Is it because I’m so very talented in bed?”

Nathan shakes his head.

“About my brilliant personality, then?”

“Nope.”

“Then it has to be about how handsome I am.”

Nathan laughs, “Not at all. I has to do with your tendency to date people just for a little while and then break up.”

“Oh, I see,” John breathes, having lost all interest in teasing and laughter.

“But don’t worry, I knew what I was getting into from the start,” Nathan smiles, shifting onto his back again, still breathing heavily.

John studies him for a long moment. He knows exactly why he had agreed to go out with Nathan a full month ago, and he hasn’t regretted his choice a bit. The sex was good, the dates quite fun and the conversation pretty easy. John always made sure anyone he was dating knew what kind of relationship he was looking for, and it always worked perfectly.

“And if it’s any consolation,” Nathan adds, winking, “I don’t think you’re heartless at all.”

“People are saying I’m heartless?!”

“And as I just said, I don’t agree.”

John sighs loudly, raising both arms in defeat. “I can’t believe this. It was never in my intention to hurt anyone. Did I hurt someone?”

“I have no idea,” Nathan replies honestly. “I just heard that you never stay with anyone more than a few weeks and that you don’t get attached, that’s all.”

“And you knew before asking me out?”

“Yes. I didn’t mind. I found you attractive and I thought it’d be fun,” Nathan says, shrugging.

“And has it been?” John asks, “Fun?”

“Yes,” Nathan says, facing him again. “I enjoyed this a lot, and I knew it was coming to an end. I just-”

He stops. “What?”

“I just wanted to ask something, but I’m not sure I should.”

John shifts to his side too, “Go ahead.”

“Are you… I mean, from what I’ve observed, are you ending all your relationships because you’re in love with Sherlock Holmes?”

John takes the punch without a sound. He had never thought he was that obvious, but if the man he’s been seeing for only five weeks had managed to figure it, then this is even worse than he imagined.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Nathan sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s alright,” John replies, sighing too. “I just thought I was better at hiding it.”

“Maybe I’m just very observant,” Nathan offers.

“I don’t know anyone more observant than Sherlock,” John whispers, suddenly realising what this could mean.

“Oh.”

John closes his eyes, refusing to even think about the fact that Sherlock could know and choose not to say anything. He can’t be thinking about this, can’t began to figure out what it could mean.

“I understand, you know. Sherlock is pretty sexy.” John glares at him, making Nathan laugh. “But I also know he doesn’t date anyone. Ever.”

“Exactly.”

They fall silent, shivers running down John’s chest and he pulls the duvet up to cover them. Nathan had closed his eyes and for a second, John thinks he’s already drifting off. He’s not sure he’ll ever manage to fall asleep again. Sherlock can’t know, can he? He would have said something, even just to make it clear it would never happen. He has always been so clear about it, always made sure everyone around him understood that romantic relationships were boring, stupid, not worth his time.

Or maybe he was just afraid to hurt his feelings, to damage their friendship.

“You’re freaking out.”

“What? No, I’m not.”

“I’d be freaking out,” Nathan says, looking back at him.

“You are not helping a bit here,” John points out, glaring.

“You could just tell him, you know.”

“If you think I haven’t thought about this for the past four years…”

“Four years?!”

John doesn’t try to hide his blush, “Yeah.”

“And you never considered that he might have feelings for you too?” Nathan asks, sounding so sincere that John bursts into nervous laughter.

“I usually don’t let myself think about it too much.”

Nathan gives him a small smile, “Honestly, what I think is that you’re wasting time with me, right now. That you’ve been wasting time for four years.”

“Christ,” John laughs again, “How am I having this conversation with you right now.”

“We can stop,” Nathan says. “We can find other ways to get busy.” he moves closer, one hand stroking John’s thigh slowly. “I still have a night with you.”

John smiles, accepting the tender kiss and letting himself relax into the touch. He’s going enjoy this one last time, and then, maybe, he’s going to consider telling Sherlock one more time.


	2. 19 years old, Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say on the previous chapter, but Sherlock and John are the same age in this story.
> 
> Also, the next four chapters will follow them through their 19th year, month by month.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments!
> 
> Pauline

**Two**

LEARNING

 

 

*    *    *

J A N U A R Y

*    *    *

 

Sherlock eases his way through the kitchen and onto the stairs with difficulty. Parties have changed since the first one he went to, and they have only become worse and worse through the years. But then John has always liked them, has always enjoyed the music and the laughter, and Sherlock has always liked being around him when John was this happy. So here he is, trying not to collide with too many inebriated idiots on his way to the first floor. It has always been his refuge, the much quieter rooms filled with what really mattered: data. But then, he had come to Agatha’s house so many times now, he already knew all of its secrets.

“Hey, stranger,” a deep, unknown voice purrs next to him. “Fancy a drink?”

“Get lost,” Sherlock replies, having told four different men the same thing already.

“Come on, give me a chance! You won’t regret it!”

“Actually I will,” Sherlock attacks, “It’ll be, what, six, seven minutes of mediocre sex followed by dull conversations and high praise given to yourself? No thank you.”

“What did you just s-” the man yells just as one of his friends grabs him by the arm.

“Let it go, man, it’s Holmes, he’s not worth it.”

Sherlock watches them both disappear back down the stairs. He should go, really. John had gone to talk with some friends he saw in the garden and Sherlock hadn’t seen him ever since. He just needs to text him, say he had to go and John will understand. He had assured him the day before he didn’t have to come with him to every party. But then, Sherlock has always prefered to _know_.

He heads for the bathroom first, splashing some water over his face. Then, Agatha’s room. She found out, around three years ago, about his tendency to stay there while the others played and drank downstairs. She had made him promise not to touch anything (too late) and not to do anything either with a pointed look (no chance there). So, he is sure to remain alone here, with only John and Agatha knowing his secret hiding place.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock turns around, startled, just in time to watch John walking towards him. “John, what happened?”

“Nothing,” John replies when he’s close enough, the two of them standing by the doorway now.

“Cleary something has,” Sherlock protests, reading all the signs of early anger and frustration on his face.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just…” He rubs a hand over his nape, sighing. “The boys were talking, and some said that, well, that you’re going out with this Anthony guy and I told them no but they keep insisting you were, that Anthony himself said so, and I just realised that I actually wasn’t sure and - Christ, what I meant to say is that you can tell me about these kinds of things, right?”

Sherlock, too stunned to say anything, remains silent for a long moment. He watches as John’s eyes go from his own to the door, back to him and then the door again.

“I mean, I’m your friend, and that’s what friends are f-”

“I’m not going out with… what’s his name.”

John looks back sharply at him. “You’re not?”

Sherlock shakes his head, about to point out just how ridiculous it is when some drunk man claps John’s shoulder. “John! Holmes! Finally getting down to it then! You sneaky bastards!”

“Jerkins,” John sighs.

“And in Agatha’s room, nice! Come on guys,” this Jerkins is now shouting, leaning against John’s shoulder. “Do you need me to draw it for you?” He laughs and laughs as John tries to get push him away. “Give me a pen, I’ll draw it for you!”

“Jenkins,” John says, angry now. “Get the fuck away, you’re pissed.”

“The hell I am. You should be too, Watson!”

Sherlock is about to put an end to all this once and for all when Jerkins is suddenly pulling away, laughing even more as he raises his arm high. It only takes a second for Sherlock to realise what he’s aiming for, and he barely has the time to warn John before Jerkins pushes him towards the bedroom, taking him in his fall. Sherlock only registers the sound of the door closing, Jerkin’s laughter dying off and then the hardwood floor hitting his back.

“Fuck,” John cries, failing miserably at catching himself on both hands, landing boneless on top of him.

“Careful,” Sherlock says, more for show than anything else. Their fall wasn’t a bad one, and since he took most it it himself, John isn’t actually at risk of hurting them both.

“I’m gonna kill him,” John mutters, starting to straighten up, raising himself on both hands and looking down at Sherlock. “Are you alright?”

Sherlock nods. Their previous proximity had already made it hard to focus, so he isn’t sure what to think about their current closeness right now. He could feel John’s breath against his face, and his entire body weight felt strangely comfortable on top of him. Sherlock finds himself wishing John might actually be hurt enough that they’d have to remain that way just a little longer.

“Sure?” John asks, his voice barely a whisper this time.

Sherlock dares to meet his eyes, finding them wide open and fixed on his. He nods against him, swallowing around the lump in his throat and trying desperately not to glance down at John’s lips. He’ll notice, of course he’ll bloody notice this close, and the last thing Sherlock needs right now is to feel even more embarrassed. He looks away instead, finding John’s hand next to his head, slightly trembling as it supports his body.

“You look pale,” John says, still not moving away, and Sherlock remains in control enough to look back at him.

“I’m fine,” he whispers, not trusting his own voice at the moment.

“Ok, I’ll just - ” John’s voice dies off, tongue darting out to wet his lower lips and, just like that, Sherlock realises he’s staring. He looks back up quickly, a cold wave of panic rushing down his spine. But then John is lowering himself, their lips now dangerously close. “Sherlock.”

He might be the one to bring them together, Sherlock isn’t quite certain if he’s still in control of his body anymore, but he couldn’t care less. He’s kissing John. And not just any kiss, not the kind of kisses he imagined when he was only ten, having watched his parents kiss too many times and for the first time, daring to imagine doing so himself. No, this is the kind of kiss he dreamt about every night when puberty hit, this is the kind of kiss he fantasized about for years, watching John give them to meaningless girls and boys. This is the kiss he never thought John would ever give him, and yet for some inexplicable reason, John is kissing him back.

Sherlock welcomes back the entire weight of John’s body against him with a whimper, John’s hands having found his curls and staying there. Sherlock tilts his head, having no idea what he’s doing but being rewarded by a gentle stroke of John’s tongue against his lower lips. And so Sherlock lets him in, lets him lick into his mouth and make it his. He lets John take it all, all of him with a single kiss, with a single stroke of his finger against his temple with a single beat of his pounding heart.

The need for air breaks them apart, but Sherlock pulls him back in for another kiss before John can find the time to say anything. He doesn’t want to hear, not any of it. John needs to be kissing him like this forever, never stopping, never getting up off this floor. They’ll remain here, right here, right -

“Sherlock, God,” John gaps, having pulled away this time, lips kissing their way down his chin and neck.

Sherlock arches against him, both hands closed around John’s shirt, holding on tightly. He realises the heavy sounds filling the room are coming from his own mouth, and Sherlock wishes John would just kiss him again, swallowing them down. He feels the hands in his hair sliding lower, around his neck just as John’s lips find his collarbone. “John,” he whispers, “John, please.”

John doesn’t make him wait a second more, their mouths crashing together for another kiss and Sherlock whimpers. He lets one of his hands find John’s hair too, making sure he won’t be pulling away again, and when he feels John shift on top of him, Sherlock realises there is a hardness pushing against his hips. There is nothing he can do about the moan that escapes him at the sensation, and although sex has always been this strange and blurry notion, he finds himself craving more. He thrusts up, revealing his own state of arousal and John kisses him harder. Sherlock continues to thrust against him, desperate for John to move too, for him to seek his own pleasure against him.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, I-”

Sherlock shakes his head, the hand in John’s air shaking. “I want, I want...”

John’s eyes are roaming all over his face and so Sherlock shifts just enough for his next thrust to be against John’s crotch. He watches in awe as a bright flash of pleasure takes over John’s eyes and face, does it again and again and again. John is all but panting against his lips now, having begun to thrust back against him, and Sherlock is getting lost inside his own pleasure. His entire body is shaking but then it’s alright, because John is barely holding himself up now, and so Sherlock kisses him again, pulls him back on top of him and holds him there.

They’re all but rutting against each other now, ending each kiss with a new one, and Sherlock is certain he’ll never recover. He knows he’ll never forget the storm of emotions washing over his body and head. He wants to remember it all, he wants to engrave each and every sound, shiver and cry coming from John. He has to remember it, has to lock it all in a room before it’s over.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock, I-”

John is tensing in his arms, going entirely still and Sherlock realises he’s coming, having an orgasm because of him, on top of him, against him. And just like that Sherlock finds that his own pleasure has been on the verge of exploding since their lips touched and so he lets go. He lets himself lose all control, lets John see it all if only he had both eyes open. That’s for the best.

“John, John, John…”

His semen feels suddenly very cold inside his pants, and the realisation of what just happened sinks in slowly. John still has both eyes shut tightly and so Sherlock does the only thing he can think about so that won’t end, not yet, please, not yet. John welcomes his lips with a quiet sigh, and Sherlock keeps the kiss gentle at first, the passion already dying off. John kisses back, almost lazily until somehow it isn’t anymore, their tongues meeting in hard, fast strokes. Sherlock holds on, both arms around John’s neck and their bodies melting back together.

He feels the exact moment where John decides it’s over. He feels him slip away with each kiss, letting their lips brush until they’re simply breathing against the other’s mouth.

“We can’t stay like this,” he breathes, and Sherlock closes his eyes. “Anyone could walk in.” John’s thumb is still stroking his temple. “I’ll go get something to clean us up, I’m sure you’re as uncomfortable as I am.” Sherlock looks back up at him. “Don’t go anywhere, ok?”

Sherlock nods, reluctantly letting go of John’s body and watching, silent and still, as he gets to his feet and leaves the room without another word. Sherlock remains there, not yet ready to face whatever will happen once he gets to his feet and faces John again. Maybe he should go. Maybe it’ll be for the best if he just leaves and gives them both the time to process whatever it was that just happened.

“Because it happened,” he hears himself whisper to the silent room. “It happened.”

It happened and Sherlock has no idea, no idea at all, what _it_ just set in motion.

“John!”

Sherlock sits back up, alarmed. He stares at the door, certain it will open to Jerkins yelling at them again, but there’s nobody there. Starting to slowly become more and more worried, Sherlock stands up, the stickiness inside his pants making him wince. John should be back by now, the bathroom just down the hallway. Maybe he’s the one who left. A cold wave of panic washes over him, and Sherlock is at the door in seconds. He breathes out slowly, getting ready to face the real world, and opens it. John is right there, his back to him and what seems to be a towel in his hand. As expected, Jerkins is grabbing him by the shoulders, laughing.

“Oh come on, you can tell us!”

John is shaking his head, “No, no. It’s not like that, this is - ”

Sherlock shuts the door before he can hear the end of the sentence. He should have known, should have realised this is just what John always does. He’s watched him, date after date. He’s counted the days, even kept track of the longest period of time John stayed with someone. Seven weeks and three days. John doesn’t do long term relationships, never has. And here he has been, lying on the floor and thinking about _forever_.

“Idiot,” he curses. “Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.”

Three knocks on the door. “Sherlock?”

Composing himself, Sherlock faces a tentative John walking back into the room. “I don’t need it.”

“What?” John frowns.

Sherlock nods towards the towel.

“Oh, ok.”

“I have to go,” Sherlock says, refusing to look away from John’s face.

“Wha- Why?”

“Experiment,” Sherlock replies, not having the strength to find any elaborate lies. John doesn't say anything, standing in the middle of the room and watching him walk back to the door.

“What…” Sherlock clears his throat. “What we just did, I’d like to do it again whenever you want to.” Without another word, he walks out of the room, out of the house, out of his own head.

 

 

*    *    *

F E B R U A R Y

*    *    *

 

34 days.

Sherlock has marked them on the calendar in his room. A red cross each day that goes by without John asking - with or without words - to have sex again. That’s more than a month wasted, almost five weeks that has gone by without Sherlock being able to take advantage of this shift in their relationship before it’s too late. It had occurred to him, one night lying awake in bed, that _this_ might have ended the same day it began, and he has absolutely no idea how to know for sure. He couldn’t just ask John. First of all, he doesn’t have a clue about how to breach such a subject. Second, John is supposed to be the one to ask for it again. Sherlock made it quite clear. He was happy to do it again. He said it. Didn’t he?

Then, it had occurred to him - on another sleepless night - that John might not want to do it again. He hasn’t allowed himself to linger on that supposition just yet. The implications were... well, he just isn’t thinking about it. At all.

“You’re not here with me right now, Sherlock.”

He looks up to his lab partner, Angus, who seems to have been waiting for an answer to a question Sherlock hadn’t caught.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. Just, try to focus until the end of this part, and then I can continue on my own,” Angus says, looking back down at their current project.

They had been working on it since November, and they are currently in the last few days before having to write their essay and hand it back to their professor. Angus had been the perfect lab partner so far, quiet and serious when needed, never asking questions when Sherlock remains silent for hours, nor disturbing him when he is locked in his own head. He hasn’t even complained once about Sherlock’s lack of social skills. But Sherlock has deduced that it is probably because he also lacks them, in a completely different way.

“It’s about John, right?”

Perfect example right there.

“I know you never want to talk about it, you actually never did, but I’m not stupid. I can observe, too, and you’ve been checking your phone constantly. And I know you two aren’t fighting because he came to fetch you after class just yesterday. So this can only mean something happened and the two of you aren’t talking about it.”

Angus had talked so fast, Sherlock had held his breath. He still wonders if that’s the effect he has on people when he’s in the middle of a deduction.

“You know you can tell me about this, I’m a good listener and I can hold my tongue. I can also give good advice. I helped a friend just a few weeks ago, she was in a mess and I helped her fix it all.”

“Angus, stop,” Sherlock sighs. “You’ve done it again.”

Angus looks back at him, leaning back against his chair. “Sorry. I’m working on it, you know.”

“I just simply don’t understand how your brain works,” Sherlock says, probably for the thousandth time now. “Even I’ve learned when to stop before getting too personal.”

“I just don’t realise I’m going too far,” Angus explains. “I just notice things and it’s beyond my control, I have to help.”

“And people are just fine with it?” Sherlock asks, the mystery too good to miss. Even after months of working together, he still hasn’t figured out how Angus manages to get away with it all. People always either try to punch him and yell insults at him every time he makes a too-personal deduction and yet, it has never happened to Angus.

“Like I said, I’m a good listener,” Angus says, smiling now. “People tend to trust me. Except you.”

“I trust you,” Sherlock frowns, pointing at the current, quite dangerous experiment on the table in front of them.

“That’s not the same,” Angus laughs. “You haven’t told me a single piece of personal information about you and John since we started working together.”

“Because there is nothing to say.”

And there really isn’t. Not for 34 days. Just John waiting for him after class some days, the two of them eating together and then going their separate ways. Just John coming to Sunday Lunch and being his pleasant self and then going home alone. Just John smiling and laughing and shining, but never kissing him.

“Well, if one day there is something, I’ll be happy to listen,” Angus says, still smiling at him. “In the meantime, the lab is going to close soon, so let’s finish this.”

Sherlock nods, pushing away all thoughts of John and focusing back. They fall silent again, and without a word, they work together for the next thirty-five minutes. By the time the guardian comes to tell them he has to lock the lab, they’re already cleaning their table.

“Do you want to go grab something to eat?” Angus asks on their way out. Sherlock doesn’t have the time to decline before Angus is laughing quietly, “Nevermind, John’s there.”

Sherlock looks back in front of him, finding John sitting on one of the benches near the gate. He waves at him and Sherlock waves back, already feeling something warm spread throughout his chest. Angus pats his shoulder, saying a quick goodbye and heading the other way.

“You two seem close,” John says, having met him halfway. “Lab partner?”

“Yes, Angus. I told you about him, didn’t I?”

“Can’t remember,” John shrugs.

“He’s nice,” Sherlock says, more to fill the silence than anything else. “He’s top of his class and so he came to ask me if I wanted to do this year project with him.”

“He did?”

Sherlock nods. “He probably heard I was top of mine. Makes sense.” He looks at where Angus is now waiting for a bus, John standing very - very - close now. “I’m sure you’ll like him.”

“Not sure about that,” John replies, almost too quietly for Sherlock to hear.

But he doesn’t have the time to ask what he meant, with John starting to walk away. “John, wait, where are we go-”

“What we did,” John suddenly says, turning back to face him and the determination in his eyes makes Sherlock stop dead in his tracks. “I want to it again.”

Sherlock swallows, throat dry. “Now?”

“Yes.”

John is still staring at him, strong and tall and beautiful, and Sherlock _wants_. “My flat?”

John nods sharply, turning back and walking to the main road. Sherlock hurries to join him, having absolutely nothing to say but too afraid John might somehow change his mind. He has no idea what changed, but he’s not going to mess it up. He’s been waiting for this for too long, and, fuck, he needs to get rid of his calendar before John notices!

“Wait, Sherlock,” John says, barely a few meters away from Sherlock’s front door. “I can’t make you do th-”

“No,” Sherlock cuts him off. “I want it, too. I said I wanted this.”

John looks at him for a very long time, not speaking, and when he reaches for his hand, Sherlock almost doesn’t sigh in relief. He lets John lead them for the rest of the way, using the key Sherlock gave him to get the door open and not letting go of his hand until they’re inside of his living room. There, Sherlock remembers to breathe, only to get all the air sucked out of him when John tugs on his hand and brings their bodies together.

The kiss makes them both gasp. Sherlock is already holding on to John’s jacket, desperate to make sure he won’t leave. He can already feel arousal building in his abdomen, each stroke of John’s tongue against his own making it harder and harder to control himself. He knows he’s already hard, having been half erect since John had announced he wanted to have sex again, but Sherlock finds that it’s perfectly alright when John pushes his own growing erection against his hip. Sherlock slides both hands up and around John’s neck, grinding against him and making clear he needs more, and fast.

John is the one to walk them both back and to the sofa. Sherlock goes down without breaking the kiss, welcoming John’s body on top of him with another whimper. He spreads his legs automatically, letting John settle between them and the first thrust of their trapped erections against one another makes them both moan, loud.

“Sherlock,” John pants, having trailed down to kiss his neck now. “Are you sure you-”

“Yes,” Sherlock moans, locking one leg around John’s hip to apply more pressure to their movements. “Yes.”

John pulls away just enough to look down at him, eyes searching. Sherlock holds his stare, hoping nothing on his face is betraying what’s really happening inside his head. They remain this way for a small eternity, but when John leans back down to kiss him, Sherlock loses himself in his mouth again. They rock together slowly, pleasure building and heart pounding. Nothing could have prepared Sherlock for the sudden touch of John’s fingers over his crotch, and so he’s the one to break the kiss this time, immediately looking down between them to watch as John unzips him, hands sliding inside his pants and warm fingers wrapping around his erection.

“John,” he moans, loud, unable to stop himself.

John is looking down too, moving his hand up and down so very slowly. Sherlock knows he’s already lost to pleasure, having no control whatsoever of what is going to happen next. If he had known, last time, just how breathtaking the feel of John’s hand against his bare flesh was, he would have stayed, would have locked them in that room and peeled every bit of clothing off of John’s back.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John pants, having now taken his cock out and glancing back up at him, “I need to-”

“Yes,” Sherlock moans, nodding with enthusiasm, “ _please_.”

Both of them look back down in time for John to free his own erection and push down against Sherlock’s, but then Sherlock is losing himself again. He’s only aware of John’s lips finding his again, and the constant, hard thrust of their cocks. He can still feel John’s fingers, circling them both, hand moving just as fast as their bodies. Once again, it ends all too quickly, Sherlock coming between their joined bodies and letting John take all the air out of him. He’s shaking, still having no control of his own reactions, and the sudden warmth of John’s breath against his lips and added wetness on their hands almost, _almost_ , sends him over the edge again.

John all but collapses on top of him again, and Sherlock finds himself hoping he always will. He likes this, the compact weight of John’s body surrounding his own. So he keeps his leg where it still traps John’s. Silence welcomes them both in the afterglow, their chests rising together and their cocks still nestled together. Sherlock wishes, once again, for another forever.

“You really wants to do this,” John finally says, head still pressed to Sherlock’s neck.

And so Sherlock only nods. If he doesn’t have the courage to say it outloud yet, at least he could do _this_.

 

 

*    *    *

M A R C H

*    *    *

 

 

Sherlock is obviously doing something wrong, and he can’t seem to be able to figure out what exactly it is. It’s not that they aren’t having sex - like those first cursed thirty-four days - it’s only that they’re _barely_ having sex. Sherlock knows for a fact John likes sex - loves it, even. He’s heard him talk about it with his friends, even heard him once while having sex - two and a half minutes he can’t seem to be able to erase from his memory. And yet, in two months, they’ve only slept with each other four times. Four brilliant times, but still. Clearly, something is off, or else John would be willing to do it more often. He had thought he had made it clear just how much he is willing to engage in sexual intercourse that second time, and although John had left him on that sofa to go have a shower and left not long after, Sherlock had told himself that’s how it was done. Right?

He’s researched this, spending long, sleepless nights trying to figure it all out. He found out about the whole friends with benefits thing, understood what it meant and how it fits their situation quite well. But he also understood that the point of such a friendship is to have sex - a lot of it. Maybe he needs to make his wishes more obvious. Or maybe he just needs to become better at it. There’s a chance John doesn’t know how to tell him it’s the worst sex he’s ever had. Maybe he actually found a way and Sherlock is just too obtuse to get it. After all, they’ve never done anything more than rutting against each other while using hands to bring the other off. And even then, Sherlock had only just begun touching John in return.

He can’t think about anything else anymore. Just those four times and when or how he had managed to mess it all up. A whole nineteen days after their second time, John had waited until the end of a movie before kissing him. Sherlock had immediately melted into the touch and had let him manoeuvre them back down the sofa. They had only managed to open both trousers, thrusting against each other, until they both reached orgasm, and Sherlock had thought it would never be any better than _that_. But then, only three days ago, John had taken his time to stroke him, his hand moving so very slowly on Sherlock’s aching erection that it had took him long minutes to tip over the edge. And it had been with John’s wide and hungry eyes staring down at him that Sherlock had found the courage to wrap his own fingers around John’s cock. It had all happened in a blur, his tentative movements, John’s moan in his ear and the feeling of his erection hardening just a bit more right before he came. Sherlock had loved every second of it, wanting to keep his hand right _there_ all night, but John had left the small sofa with one last quiet moan and hadn’t bothered to shower this time before leaving.

And now, sitting on the very same sofa only makes Sherlock wish John could be there, kissing him.

He knows why John doesn’t stay afterwards. Just like he knows why John doesn’t linger, kissing him. He knew from the very start. He can handle casual sex, can take advantage of everything John is giving. He has to, has to make sure John won’t be seeking more somewhere else, with someone else. He can make it good for him, can learn how to reciprocate. He just needs time, experience. He can get better. Has to get better.

Sherlock looks up at the clock, deciding here and now that he needs to see John before going mad. He grabs his coat and keys without allowing himself to overthink any of it, and steps out in the freezing cold. John’s campus is barely twenty minutes away. Sherlock takes advantage of his walk to think of something to say as to why he’s there when John finishes class. The new shift in their relationship hasn’t - as Sherlock had feared - changed their friendship. They still spend much of their free time together, still eat Sunday Lunch at Sherlock’s parents, still work together on Sherlock’s experiments for hours. The only change is simply that Sherlock now needs to make sure he isn’t going to kiss John every chance he gets. Which is starting to become harder and harder. But this is another problem entirely.

He arrives at the main gate without having thought about an excuse at all, and so he goes to sit on the only bench on the other side of the road. The few cars parked hide him from the view, some students already smoking outside. John usually leaves last, always having a question for the professor, and Sherlock crosses his hands on his knees, waiting. He doesn’t immediately notice the familiar figure approaching, and only when the person stops in front of him does he looks up.

“I thought that was you,” Agatha smiles down at him. “It’s been a while since I saw you, Sherlock.” She sits down next to him, her bag on her lap and her curls falling gracefully on her shoulders. “Are you waiting for John?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, having learned to tolerate Agatha by now.

“I think he’s still in class,” she says. “It started a bit late.”

Sherlock nods, squeezing his hands a little harder. He doesn’t have time for small talk, but Agatha clearly is getting ready to stay for a while. He can’t remember the last time they saw each other, and considering her natural kindness, he’s certain she’s going to try and catch up on everything that happened to him since then.

“We ate lunch together today and he said you were working on something new. Something to do with ashes,” she frowns, as if not sure of herself.

“It’s a bit more complicated than just ashes,” Sherlock can’t help but say.

“I’m sure it is,” she laughs softly. “John said you’ve already worked on it all Saturday last weekend.”

Sherlock turns to look at her more closely, trying to figure out where she’s going with that last statement. She’s looking in front of her, nose, cheeks and mouth all perfect. She has always been beautiful. Sherlock isn’t a complete stranger to beauty. Nor were all their peers in middle and high school. Just for a second, Sherlock wonders if John has already slept with her. If he’s still sleeping with her. They never said anything about being exclusive, and maybe the solution of Sherlock’s problem is right under his nose. John loves sex, and he’s getting some with Agatha and him at the same time. More often with her it seems.

“What are you deducing now?” Agatha finally asks, meeting his eyes.

“Nothing.”

“I’ve known you for quite a long time now, Sherlock,” she says ever so gently. “I’ve learn how to read you, the best I could, at least, and right now, you’re looking at me with such disgust, I must have done something.”

Sherlock looks away, hurt to have been discovered. He shrugs, having nothing to say.

Agatha laughs again, standing up and pulling her bag up her shoulder again, “I know John’s late because I’m the one that took a long time telling the professor about a project before John’s class begun. I ate with John because my girlfriend is in his physics class and they wanted to talk about shared homework.” She waits until Sherlock is looking at her before continuing. “I’ve always considered John to be a dear friend, nothing more, so your jealousy is directed at the wrong person here. So I’m going to leave you to it. I hope we’ll get to see each other again soon. Take care until then.”

She walks away without giving him the time to reply or defend himself, but then Sherlock isn’t sure he’s supposed to say anything at all. She had somehow managed to read through him during all those years, never saying a word and taking him entirely by surprise just now. Denying his jealousy would have been childish, the relief that had flowed through him at Agatha’s words the clear proof she had been right. He didn’t want John to see anyone else, didn’t want him to have a sexual relationship with anyone else while they were having one. He needs to be the only one to give this kind of pleasure to John.

Only him.

The sudden buzz of his phone in his pocket brings him back to reality, and his eyes find the campus gate immediately. John is right there, walking down the street leading to his flat, phone in hand. Sherlock reaches for his inside his pocket, unable to stop himself from smiling as he reads,

**received / 19:22**

Are you free for dinner?

A friend told me about

a new place, we could

check it out?

 

Sherlock types his reply quickly,

**sent / 19:23**

I’m out. Send me

the address, I’ll join

you there directly.

 

John has disappeared down the street now, and Sherlock stares at the spot he stood just seconds ago.

 **received / 19:23** Meet me at the

record store, I want

to buy some first.

 

Sherlock stands up, shivering.

**sent / 19:24**

On my way.

 

He puts his phone back inside his pocket, keeping his hand there too. He heads for John’s favorite record store, deciding that even if they are never to have sex again, he’s going to enjoy each and every second spent with the only person that truly matters.


	3. 19 years old, Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I didn't update sooner! There's only two more months in this chapter when there supposed to be three, but it only means the next chapter will be even longer ;)
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments <3
> 
> Pauline

 

**Two**

LEARNING

 

*    *    *

A P R I L

*    *    *

 

Sherlock arrives late, cursing Mycroft for the twenty minutes he lost in traffic. He all but runs to the restaurant, taking half a second to catch his breath and looking around to find John. Ever since they came here last month, the restaurant has become their new favorite place to eat, and so when John had offered to meet there tonight, Sherlock hadn’t hesitated a second to say yes. He finally spots him at the far end of the room, John looking down at his menu, teeth biting at his lower lips, and something very warm spreads down Sherlock’s groin. He shakes his head, refusing to think about sex right now. He had stood by his resolution ever since he met Agatha while waiting for John - no more waiting for another chance to have sex with John all day and slowly going insane in the meantime. They hadn’t kissed or touched or done anything since March thirteenth, and Sherlock had almost stopped counting the days.

John finally looks up, smiling when their eyes meet and Sherlock hurries to join him. “Sorry,” he says, sitting down. “Traffic.”

“Mycroft start another war?” John jokes, smiling back.

Sherlock swallows around the sudden rush of sentiment for this perfect man. “Damm him.”

“I already ordered something to drink,” John says, apparently unable to stop smiling at him. “The usual.”

Sherlock nods, looking over the menu quickly, having already decided what to eat during the cab ride. The waiter has probably been waiting for him to arrive because he brings their drinks, taking their order and promises to be back shortly.

John waits until he’s gone before saying, “Did you go to class today?”

“No, Angus called to say he was sick so I took advantage of today to catalogue more ashes.”

“How many?” John asks, taking a sip of his drink, eyes fixed on him.

“Seven,” Sherlock replies, not caring about how excited he sounds. “You’ll need to come and see, the last two are quite surprising!”

“Maybe tomorrow,” John offers. “I don’t have to be in class after all.”

“Could work,” Sherlock says, adding, with a sigh, “but I’ll have to clean, the whole flat is a mess. We won’t be able to sit anywhere, even the sofa is covered in files and books.”

It only takes a second for what could be implied in his last sentence to sink in. They both blush at the same time, Sherlock unable to hold John’s stare any longer. He isn’t sure if he should be surprised by how little time it took them to breach _that_ subject. It was only a matter of time, really. One does not have sex with one’s best friend four times and expect not to have to talk about it at some point. If anything, this comes as a relief, a way to know for sure and - finally - go back to proper, rational thinking.

“Actually, I wanted to talk about this with you,” John says, looking down at his own hands on the table. “The whole sofa and...” he clears his throat, glancing back up him for the briefest second, “... and sex thing.”

Sherlock focuses on his breathing, remembering to inhale and exhale slowly. “You do?” he asks tentivally.

“Yes,” John says, breathing in deeply. “I wanted to apologise.”

Cold panic rushes down Sherlock’s spine, quickly followed by incomprehension. “Apologise for what?”

“For involving you in… this,” John indicates, waving a hand between them. “I know you said you wanted this, but each time we’ve just gone ahead and had sex and not once did I properly ask you if-”

“You did,” Sherlock interrupts him, “Last time, on the way back to my flat, and then again when we were on the sofa.”

John shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his nape. “Yeah but that’s what I’m saying, that was the fourth time we were doing it, and before that I only took your body language as confirmation, and that’s not right.”

“John,” Sherlock says, calm and slow. “Don’t you think I would have said something if I didn’t want it?”

John looks at him for a long moment, eyes searching his. “That’s the thing, Sherlock. I’m not sure you would have. I’m thinking that you might have too afraid of what would happen if you said something.” He sighs again, taking his head in his hands. “Everyone I ever dated knew exactly what they were getting into; I always made sure they knew. But with you, I just… I know what you think about sex, you’ve been telling everyone for years that you have absolutely no interest in it, and there I was, kissing you on that bedroom floor and you didn’t push me away and I-”

“John,” Sherlock stops him once more, too afraid of the conclusion he might reach if he continues. “Stop.” He waits until John meets his eyes again before saying, “You said it yourself, I never took interest in such things. Before.” He lets the silence stretch for a moment. “But I’ve wanted to have follow through with it each time we engage in sexual intercourse. Not once have you forced yourself on me. I know you, John Watson, you would never have done something that might hurt me, or anyone else for that matter. If I hadn’t want this, you would have figured it out during that New Year’s party, right from the start, one way or another.”

The waiter startles them both, placing their meals on the table without either of them looking away from the other’s eyes.

Sherlock’s mind is racing, dozens of possible outcomes playing on a loop, only a few of them not ruining everything. “Like I said,” he finally says, deciding to use John’s own explanation to his advantage, “my lack of interest is not relevant any longer. I want to know more about it all, and what we’ve been doing - all of it - helped.”

“You mean like an experiment,” John asks, frowning.

“No,” Sherlock hurries to reply, knowing just how John feels about being a subject in his experiments. “More like personal research.”

John stares at him for a long moment, not talking. Then, looking unsure, “But you’ve… I mean, this is the first time you’re doing this.”

Sherlock is the one to look away, taking a sudden interest in his food. “Yes.”

“And you’re absolutely certain everything we’ve done so far was alright? I really need you to be completely honest here, Sherlock. I haven’t been able to think about anything else for months, and it’s slowly driving me crazy.”

Sherlock inhales sharply, deciding honesty is the only solution to reassure John. “I enjoyed - more than enjoyed, actually - touching you that last time we had sex. I’ve been meaning to before but never dared, and I’m happy I finally did.”

John’s eyes widen, a flush spreading down his cheeks and neck.

“I’d like to do it again.”

John licks his lips. “And you’re not… researching with anyone else?” Sherlock shakes his head, the question he’s not asking back apparently written on his face as John adds, “Me neither.”

“Friends with benefits,” Sherlock blurts out, still needing to order his thoughts. “That’s what I propose we become. You’ve never committed to a long-term relationship and I have no interest in them at all. It suits us perfectly.”

He’s not sure how many times he has rehearsed this sentence this very last few weeks, but now that it’s out, Sherlock finds that he would rather have said nothing at all.

“So, just sex,” John says, almost too quietly. “Anytime we feel like it.”

Sherlock nods, a lump in his throat.

“Not sleeping with anyone else on the side.”

Another nod, firmer.

“Alright. Friends with benefits.”

Sherlock fights back the urge to close his eyes and break down. This is the best, and only, solution to keep John right where he is, with him.

“The food’s gone cold,” John remarks, still staring at him.

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock can only reply, the flush on John’s cheeks only getting redder and redder.

“My sofa is free of any files or books,” John breathes.

Sherlock is up and putting on his coat in no time, John already having left to pay for the food they didn’t even touch. He’s not sure he has fully realised what just happened, but Sherlock finds that he’d rather focus on what’s going to happen the second they’re inside John’s flat.

John comes back after only a few minutes, two boxes in hand, “It’ll be a shame if it goes to waste,” he explains, putting both their meals inside. “Come on, let’s go.”

Sherlock doesn't need to be told twice. He hails them a cab quickly, praying there won’t be any traffic this time. They don’t exchange a single word for the entire ride, Sherlock vibrating with the need to touch John. He knows he needs to get back in control before they arrive or else he’ll betray too much once they’re alone again. Even though John has just agreed to turn to him whenever he wants sex, Sherlock needs to make it’s going to remain that way for as long as possible.

“We’re here,” the driver finally says, a little less than twelve minutes later.

Sherlock takes care of paying him, letting John go ahead and open the front door of his building. They climb the few stairs two by two, John fumbling with his keys and cursing twice before managing to get his door open. As promised, his sofa seems to be waiting just for them, and Sherlock gasps in relief when John crashes against him, lips demanding and hands tugging at his coat. Sherlock kisses back hungrily, having missed the feeling of John’s tongue chasing his too much to focus on anything else. It’s only when he falls backward that he realises John has walked them to the sofa, removing his own jacket at the same time.

Sherlock makes sure not to break the kiss as he pulls John closer, spreading both legs and waiting for John to settle there before locking them around his hips. They begin thrusting against each other immediately, and it occurs to Sherlock that John might have missed this just as much. He doesn’t get the time to linger on that thought, with John’s hands distracting him by sliding down his sides and between their bodies, “I don’t want you to hesitate anymore,” he pants, lips leaving kisses all over Sherlock’s neck now. “If you want to do something, please, do.”

Sherlock moans, unable to form any words to express all of the things he’d like to _do_ right now. He uses his own hands instead, meeting John’s over their crotches and fumbling with his trousers until he can finally wrap his fingers around John’s impressively hard erection.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock,” John whimpers, already thrusting into his fist.

Sherlock watches him, eyes wide and breath short, having never found anything more beautiful. His own moan when John takes him in hand echoes in the room for a long moment, and then he can only _feel_. John is everywhere, making all of him crave more, more, more. Sherlock doesn’t think of his own technique anymore, drinking John’s moans directly from his mouth. He thinks of forever again, watches John and thinks it isn’t allowed to stop.

It can’t ever stop.

 

 

*    *    *

M  A  Y

*    *    *

 

 

Sherlock couldn’t be more glad to be proven wrong.

The journal he had begun after their first time, the one dedicated to the sexual aspect of their relationship, had been filled with more data in the past three weeks than the last three months. It seems that an honest - or at least, close enough - conversation had been all they needed to truly be on the same page.

Sherlock has now learned seven different ways to bring John to orgasm with his hands only, memorizing a dozen differents sounds John makes while having sex, and memorised the exact ways to kiss him so that his entire body would shudder with desire. Everything, carefully saved in his Mind Palace.

His own goal at getting better is improving with each minute spent on their sofas, the floor (twice) and more recently against various walls too. Sherlock can even pride himself on lasting longer, managing to let John tease and stroke and kiss him for achingly long before coming. Which explains why he’s currently half undressed, spread on his own sofa, staring down at John stroking both of them ever so slowly.

“You know,” John pants, straddling his lap. “I’ve never seen you completely naked.”

Sherlock feels himself blush, moaning at another slide of John’s hand, “I know.”

“Nor have we ever done this in an actual bed,” John continues, having practically stopped stroking them.

“John,” Sherlock whimpers, rolling his hips to get more friction.

“Let’s go to your bed,” John says instead, taking his hand off them both and standing up. “Let’s get naked.”

“Right now?” Sherlock asks, the idea quite appealing but the sight of John standing there, erection in the open, making him crave release.

“Yes,” John replies, now smiling broadly. “There’s something I want to try with you.”

He doesn’t give Sherlock the chance to reply, already walking away to the bedroom, and really, Sherlock can’t just remain lying there. Joining him as quickly as he can considering his current state of arousal, Sherlock’s breath catches as he finds John undressing entirely in his bedroom. _This is new_ , Sherlock can’t help but think. A step further into this _thing_ they’re doing together. One they haven’t crossed before, one he’s been dying to discover since the very start.

“I can’t be the only one naked there, Sherlock,” John calls, bringing him back to reality.

Sherlock remembers the last time he saw John without any clothes on, nine years ago. This is so completely different on so many levels, it takes a whole minute for Sherlock to actually start removing his trousers. John has gone to lie on the bed in the meantime, still erect and so very tempting that Sherlock almost falls twice before finally getting rid of trousers, socks and pants. Even more aroused now, he climbs onto the bed too and sits awkwardly next to John. Strangely, the bed feels like too much all of a sudden. Like a barrier they just broke without having any idea what to do next.

Or at least, Sherlock having no clue.

“Come closer,” John whispers.

Sherlock breathes out slowly, lowering himself until he’s lying on his side, facing John. He doesn’t move, barely breathes, until John closes the distance with a new kiss. Getting back to something he knows how to do, Sherlock starts to relax again, letting his body learn its way back to John. The feeling of John’s bare skin is electrifying, every cell in Sherlock’s body reacting to the contact. He instinctively seeks more, sliding both arms around John’s waist and letting John roll him to his back. They kiss lazily for a long moment, as if discovering the other’s mouth for the first time again.

“There’s this thing I’ve been wanted to do to you for a while now,” John whispers against his lips, smiling.

“What thing?” Sherlock asks, eyes closed and, without a doubt, blushing.

John kisses the corner of his lips, trailing up to his cheek, nose and eyelid, “Only if you’re up for it, I’d like to use my mouth on you.”

Sherlock’s eyes snap back open at that, a low moan dying inside his throat and his hips thrusting into John’s.

“Is that a yes?” John laughs softly, kissing his way back down to his mouth.

Sherlock nods, “Yes, yes. I… I’d like that.”

John pulls away just enough to look down at him, and whispers, “It can be overwhelming at first, so don’t hesitate to ask me to stop, alright?”

Sherlock nods again, swallowing with difficulty as John continues to kiss his way down his body. He already expressed a great deal of attention to Sherlock’s niples a couple of times before, but knowing it won’t stop there this time makes the experience a thousand times more enjoyable. Sherlock threads both hands in John’s hair, holding on and remembering to breathe. He whimpers at the feeling of John’s tongue playing with his left nipple, teeth grazing and teasing. He feels himself grow harder, if possible. John aims lower, mouth leaving ghost kisses over his stomach and hip bone before pulling away.

Sherlock looks down, teeth digging into his lower lips.

“Sure?” John asks one last time.

“Yes,” Sherlock gasps, already on the verge of coming.

John smiles, one hand reaching for the jeans he left on the bed. Half focused now, Sherlock frowns when he notices the condom, John tearing the package open.

“Why?” Sherlock can only ask.

“Safer,” John smiles, now rolling the condom onto his erection.

“But this is the first ti-” Sherlock breaks down in a deep moan, John’s fingers squeezing lightly.

“Even so,” John says, lowering himself back down between his legs. “Besides, it won’t overwhelm you too much this way.”

Sherlock doesn’t bother protesting, every nerve in his body already on fire. He forces himself not to look away as John’s lips meet the damp skin of his thigh, kissing ever so softly. One of John’s hands is stroking his stomach, the other still closed around the base of his erection, making Sherlock hiss in pleasure. He fights to keep his eyes open a little longer, John’s mouth now dangerously close. He starts slow, leaving soft kisses along his erection, and Sherlock can only thank him silently.

“John,” he moans, breathing heavily.

“Is this alright?” John asks, tongue darting out as he kisses at the head.

Sherlock nods, fingers tightening around the sheets. Each touch of John’s mouth on his cock is sending thrills of pleasure down his spine, the pleasure that is now boiling low in his abdomen slowly but surely threatening to spill out. He cries out loud when John fully takes him into his mouth; hot, wet heat surrounding him. Unable to stop himself, he thrusts up, John pulling away immediately.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s alright, I should have known,” John says, fingers still stroking his inner thighs slowly. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

“It just is…”

“A lot?”

Sherlock nods again, not bothering to try and hide his blush.

“We can do something else,” John offers, crawling back up on top of him.

“Didn’t you want to do this?” Sherlock asks, hands already sliding down John’s back.

“We can try again another time,” John breathes, starting to rock against him. “This is already new enough, don’t you think?”

Sherlock moans his approval, still trying to figure out how to ask John if they could lie there afterwards, just long enough for him to catalogue every inch of his skin. He pulls John’s head down instead, kissing him to make sure none of those words come out of his mouth. They both moan when John removes the condom, Sherlock locking both legs around his hips again and thrusting. _This._ This is perfect, and if it had got him weeks to be good at it, then Sherlock is more than ready to try and try again everything John’s got to offer.

“God, Sherlock, you feel amazing,” John pants against his lips, both hands threading through his curls and their bodies moving faster and faster. “So bloody amazing.”

“John, don’t stop,” Sherlock moans back, having learned early on that John never holds back while having sex, and, at his own pace, Sherlock has started to let go too.

John kisses him again, deep and hungry, Sherlock holding on as tight as he can to his back. He knows he’s close, very close to coming now, and so he kisses John harder, hugs him harder, loves him harder.

“John!”

“Oh fuck,” John whimpers, looking down at him throughout his orgasm. “I’m-”

Sherlock’s heart always misses a beat whenever John comes, his mouth hanging open in pleasure and his eyes shining with bliss for a long moment afterward. So he bites his tongue and keeps his mouth shut, watching John go still above him and feeling the added wetness spreading between their stomachs.

“The whole bed thing was the best idea I ever had,” John laughs into his neck a little while later.

Sherlock doesn’t reply, knowing he only has a few seconds left before John is going to roll over. He needs to take advantage of each of them, learn the exact feeling of John’s bare skin all over his own before they have to part again. He almost doesn’t shiver when it happens, almost reaches for John’s hand to pull him back. He remains still instead, listening to John searching for something to clean himself before passing it on to him.

“I never noticed you had a scar on your stomach,” he says as he does so, and Sherlock looks down at the small mark on skin, wiping the semen from his stomach and thighs. “How did you get it?”

“Climbing a rock during a vacation,” Sherlock replies, remembering the day perfectly.

“Oh, that summer when I couldn’t come with you?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” John says. “I’m hurt.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, unable to stop himself from chuckling. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“You can tell me about it now,” John offers. “Make it up to me.”

Sherlock glances down at their still-naked bodies, wondering if John is really going to stay this time. If one story is all it takes, then he’s going to make sure it’s going to be a long one.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @beechanted


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